


for clarity of mind

by moondrift



Series: managing demonic house guests, for dummies [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Bill Cipher is a Jerk, Blood, Dysfunctional Relationships, Ford's Internalized Hero Complex, Human Bill Cipher, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Pre-Relationship, Sickfic, Sort Of, Trust Issues, and a hospital visit, and boy does he not like it, de-powered Bill Cipher, internal bleeding, no beta i die like an idiot, sensory issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28981125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moondrift/pseuds/moondrift
Summary: Possessing and maintaining a semi-human body is not quite as easy as Bill expected it to be. Of course, it was only meant to be a TEMPORARY FIX until he fixed that gate Ford messed up and got HIS OWN BODY but then Stanford had to go and get in the way of that too! But now the vessel’s nerves were on pins and needles, Bill couldn’t STAND another itchy shirt tag and UGH what does a dream demon gotta do to get someone to LISTEN to him around here!?Ford has everything under control. No. Really. He has everything under control. Ford continued to tell himself this until Bill started coughing up blood.Ford is convinced it’s another of Bill’s tricks. Until he isn’t.---edited* 2/5/21, edited summary.
Relationships: Bill Cipher & Ford Pines, Bill Cipher/Ford Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines & Bill Cipher
Series: managing demonic house guests, for dummies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119230
Kudos: 33





	for clarity of mind

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't THINK I would continue the trials of childminding and midnight dysphoria but here we are! I have another, longer prequel planned which will explain the setup to the series, vaguely outlined at this stage and will take place before this one. In a sense, I'm writing this series backwards lol. After the past gets caught up, we'll see Dipper and Mabel again. 
> 
> Content Warnings for: descriptions of internal bleeding, blood, vomiting, general sickness. Sensory issues, sensory overload. And Ableism, in ignorance. A discussion regarding suicide is had, very brief suicidal idealization in conversation, but an actual attempt is not depicted or described. 
> 
> As always please let me if I need to up the rating or add a tag in warning.

Bill rolled his tongue over his teeth and the smooth slick surface of his gums. His teeth were not quite as smooth as they had been hours ago but that was not why he was licking at them. There was a metallic taste in his mouth. Salty. 

Loudly he smacked his lips, and through gurgled words, politely informed Fordsy of this new development. “It’s like I got pennies in my mouth but without the pennies. What’s up with this thing?”

Ford turned to the next page of the Roadkill County Tribunal. “You know what blood tastes like, Bill.”

Bill ran the vessel's tongue between its gums and his teeth. The vessel’s throat contracted and pulled the fluid back down but that only caused another equally unpleasant sensation. Nausea. “I don’t know Sixer, I was under the impression your flesh sags wanted to keep their internal fluids _internal_ . This one seems set on regurgitating its inner puss.”  
  
“I’d hope you learned your lesson the first time you tried to eat a jar of pennies. Did you brush your teeth? Your gums will occasionally bleed if you don’t take care of them and forget to floss.” Fordsy chided. His spectacles fell down the bridge of his nose at the sudden sound Bill made a moment later. The newspaper crinkled in his fists. He breathed in harshly through his nose. 

Bill pulled the vessel’s hand to the corner of his mouth to catch the trickle of liquid that spilled over. He stared at the bright streak across the back of his hand. Then pushed the vessel’s finger underneath his upper lip.

Stanford lowered the paper to leer down over the rim of his glasses. “You didn’t eat anything sharp recently have you?”

But Bill was too busy poking around in the vessel’s mouth to form a reply. Truth be told the amount of copper in its mouth was getting _kind of annoying_ . It was an interesting flavor the first couple of times but it was also too strong a flavor. Bill hated any sensation that persisted. Oh, it was fun at first, but then it kept happening. It wasn’t _new_ anymore and it just wouldn’t _stop_. The vessel’s inner organs clenched and Bill felt more fluid crawl up his throat. “There’s something wrong with this thing. Ugh, make it stop-” 

“I’m sure it’s nothing. You’re being overdramatic.”

Bill bristled. There were sharp words on the tip of his tongue- there was nothing he hated more than being dismissed by Ford, but instead of words, there was more of that coppery taste. He swallowed it back down. “I can’t keep it down-”  
  
That finally seemed to get the flesh-bag’s attention. Ford looked up. The chair squealed as he stood. Bill blinked and Ford was next to him but on his blind side, which normally would have inspired the vessel to bare its teeth but Bill was too busy keeping its mouth shut, complying with the body’s contradictory instinct to both cough everything up and keep everything in. All these unwelcomed sensations threatened to overwhelm him. It tore his attention every-which-way and Bill hated every prick and pringle, every hair follicle that stood on end at the slightest provocation. 

Copper and sour bitterness pooled together in his mouth. He swallowed again.

He felt Ford’s hand on the vessel’s upper arm, then his fingers on either side of the vessel’s chin. Naturally, Bill resisted, because every time Ford did that his host body’s heart sped up and Bill _hated_ it. “Bill, let me see.”  
  
“I heard a commotion, what’s going on here?” Stanley Pines peered into the kitchen. 

“My best guess? Bill swallowed something he shouldn’t have again.” Ford replied. Bill rolled his eye and reluctantly allowed Ford to open his mouth, then thought himself saintly, generous even to allow the flesh-bag to search the rest of the vessel for puncture wounds. If he hadn't been preoccupied with whatever rebellion the vessel’s internal organs had chosen to wage against him, Bill would have taken the opportunity to sink his teeth into Ford’s hand. “Your gums are not swollen. I’m not finding any cuts. Bill, what did you _do_ ?”  
  
“Paranoid much?” Bill meant to say and _Ford_ called him dramatic but instead the sound gurgled in the vessel’s throat. Bill swatted his hands away as the vessel’s chest heaved and air forced its way up, and blood left his mouth. 

“Shit-”  
  
“Holy mackerel! Shouldn't we be taking him to the hospital or something?” 

“We can’t- Lee, his body is barely human! Who knows what the doctors might suspect as soon as they examine him. We can’t take that risk! If Bill escapes-”  
  
“He’s coughing up blood. I think we can manage it.” Stanley came up on Bill’s sight-enabled side and pulled the vessel to its feet. Bill blinked. Vision sliding in and out of frame like a broken projector. “I’m taking him to the hospital.” 

Ford took his other side, red-faced and venomous, he continued to argue with Stanley on the way to the car and Bill had just enough clarity to lean in his direction to dribble blood on his shirt. He missed Ford’s expression before he blacked out but petty revenge tasted so sweet.

* * *

The closest hospital to Gravity Fall was in the next town over. Bill drifted in and out of consciousness on the way there. Ford was still convinced this was a horrible idea, but it was a distant sort of thought, miles away from the chaos of the moment. The fear slipped into his mind, pulsing with every frantic palpitation in his chest; ‘did Bill plan this?’ and ‘what would happen to Bill if the vessel he currently occupied dies? Would he return to the mindscape?’

Stanley kicked the car open and ran ahead of him into the hospital, while Ford carried Bill’s unconscious body inside and from there he was rushed into the emergency room while Stanley and Ford were told to wait in the lobby. 

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Ford’s foot tapped listlessly. Fingers stabled over his chin as his thoughts raced. An uncomfortable pang of guilt he tried again and again to smother. Bill had told him something was wrong, why hadn’t he listened?

Stanley paced, muttering to himself but they said nothing to each other as they waited. 

An hour later, a doctor emerged from the double doors that led into emergency surgery. He looked down at the clipboard in his hands. “Stanley and Stanford Pines?”  
  
Ford jumped to his feet but Lee beat him to the doctor. “How is he doc? When can we see him?”  
  
By the doctor’s somber expression, he didn’t have anything good to say.

“There is no easy way to tell you this. We did everything we could. I am sorry. Your friend is dead.” 

Ford opened his mouth, then closed it again. A hollow coldness swept over him. His heart jumped to his throat. “... that can’t be right. Excuse me, but I think I misheard you, did you just say...” 

“We are very sorry, Mr. Pines.” The doctor said apologetically. Ford’s heart was beating faster. He felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice down his back and simultaneously drained all the blood from his body. The world tilted dangerously. “The patient’s heart stopped beating fifteen minutes after arrival. We attempted cardiopulmonary resuscitation and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He was declared legally dead twenty minutes ago. We are very sorry for your loss.”

... and just like that. That was all it took for Bill to escape the confines of the physical realm. 

Distantly, Ford heard Stanley say something, but he didn’t hear him. He didn’t want to believe it. It couldn’t be so easy to remove Bill from the vessel.

“When can we see the body?” He interrupted the two. Stanley looked at him, just as blood-drained as Ford felt but at his question, color returned to his face as anger. 

“I can’t believe that is the first thing you ask, Ford.” 

The doctor raised his hands in a pacifying motion. “If you two need a moment to grieve alone...”  
  
“No. No,” Ford said hastily. “We would like to take the next step as soon as possible if you don't mind.”  
  
“Of course.” the doctor said slowly. His gaze was surprisingly sharp. Ford, as a scientifically minded man by nature, was familiar with the many different shades of scrutiny the human and inhuman face could adopt. If the sudden death of Bill’s vessel wasn’t bad enough the look the doctor was giving him now... “Unfortunately you will not be able to see the body until tomorrow at the latest.”  
  
“Why?” he asked.

“Mr. Pines. The patient’s internal bleeding was caused by rapid decay of the lungs, stomach, and heart, caused by a highly corrosive substance we strongly suspect was caused by consuming abnormally high amounts of an unknown toxic chemical. For these reasons, the patient’s death is under scrutiny.”  
  
Ford stiffened. “Which means?”  
  
“Which means. Mr. Pines.” said the doctor. “The patient is a suspected victim of homicide.”  
  
“What!” Stanley exclaimed. “You're not serious, are you? Are you trying to tell me you suspect my brother is a _murderer_ ?”  
  
“You said it, Mr. Pines. Not I,” the Doctor replied. “Do not try to leave the hospital the authorities have already been called.”  
  
“Why I oughta-” Ford caught Stanley by his sleeve.  
  
“Calm yourself, Lee, you’ll only make us look more suspicious.”  
  
“No one calls my brother a murderer!” Stanley growled. “He may be many things but a murderer is not one of them! I will not stand for this.” 

“Then you will sit down until we get this whole mess sorted.” 

Ford glanced over his shoulder to the source of the unfamiliar voice and groaned in dismay. Police officers. Fully armed police officers. And just as he thought the situation couldn’t get any worse. As the officers approached, Ford considered the merits of letting his brother go, letting him do what damage he could, and making off with Bill’s vessel before the cops cuffed him. 

Thankfully Stanley seemed to calm down. Ford released him and they both stood stiffly to address the police chief.

“Doctor Hardy, it’s never a quiet day with you. This will be the second homicide you’ve reported here in two weeks.”

“Purely unintentional, I assure you, Officer Baldwin. It will pick up again at the end of the month.”  
  
Lee silently mouthed to Ford. _‘What the hell...’_

“Of course, of course,” said Officer Baldwin. He turned to them. “Take a seat, Mr. Pines. Both of you. I have business here and then we’re taking you down to the station for questioning.”  
  
“Have some pity officer, our friend just died and now this asshole has accused my brother of murder!”  
  
Officer Baldwin’s eyebrows went up a notch. “Doctor Hardy has been solving homicides at this hospital since its founding some fifteen years ago. Why, since I was a rookie even. He has never been wrong once. If he says your brother is a suspect, then, well. You’ve got a zero-percent chance he’s wrong.” 

“Definitely starting to feel like a day-time soap...” Stanley muttered under his breath. Ford had to agree. If the situation wasn’t so dire Ford would have jumped at the chance to investigate. He wasn’t quite convinced this wasn’t the usually ambient strangeness, leaked over somehow from Gravity Falls. How this could be, he didn’t know... and Ford couldn’t abide not knowing something but that was neither here nor there. He needed to see Bill’s vessel as soon as possible. 

“Would it be possible to be interviewed here and now?” Ford asked. “I want to see the remains of my... of my friend as soon as possible.”  
  
“Well now, aren't you eager to get on your way. That seems mighty suspicious if you ask me.” The officer turned to his men to issue some instruction or another but behind Dr. Hardy, the double doors to emergency surgery burst open, and out cried a frantic nurse in her sixties. Her hair was done up in a style Ford vaguely recognized as ‘victory rolls.’ 

“Mrs. March! Whatever is the matter?” Dr. Hardy clutched at the woman's arm, steadying the poor gal. 

“The patient Dr. Hardy... the patient is...!” 

“Spit it out, Mrs. March! What’s happened?”  
  
Mrs. March looked behind Dr. Hardy and screamed. All eyes turned towards the hall, and Ford nearly melted through the floor in relief. There stood Bill Cipher. Vessel occupied and slumped against the wall, clinging to the handrail, very much alive though arguably less well. 

“Ugh... my head feels like it’s being crushed under a meat-grinder.” Bill groaned. “Fuck, would someone TURN THE LIGHTS OFF? This thing’s eye socks are burning-” he dug a palm between his eyes.

“Don’t scare us like that, kid.” Stanley sighed. He reached out to him but was prevented from moving any closer by a police officer.

“Impossible!” Dr. Hardy exclaimed. “I felt his pulse myself! He should be dead.” 

“But he was!” Mrs. March cried. “Our machines don’t lie. His heart stopped.”  
  
Stanley put together an air of confidence and grinned broadly. “You can’t accuse my brother of murder when there is no dead body! Soooo... I think we will be on our way now. Thanks for the help doc, you can send the bill to my P.O box.”  
  
“Now hold on just a minute...”  
  
While Stanley had the doctor and the police chief distracted, Ford slipped on by to reach Bill.  
  
“-- get me out of here, Sixer.” Bill had his eyes squeezed shut, normally warm sun-kissed skin a sickly green and seconds away from vomiting. 

“The headache will go away once we’re out of here,” Ford promised. He pulled off his jacket and hung it over Bill’s shoulders. Bill dug his fingers into his scalp, expression locked in a grimace. 

Ford took the opportunity to give the man a quick glance over to assess the damage. But he couldn’t find anything immediately wrong, and the hospital gown prevented any further assessment though he doubted with Bill’s mercurial moods he would allow it later.

They almost made it back to Stanley when the nurse and Dr. Hardy noticed what he was doing.  
  
“-it’s up to Officer Baldwin whether or not the two of you are allowed to leave. I want an investigation done as this situation is still highly suggestive of attempted murder or at the very least, attempted poisoning- but not him, Mr. Pines. That man is a minor miracle. He just rose from the dead! He needs to stay here for further medical rese- I mean for health reasons.”  
  
Ford squared his jaw, and though mindful of Bill’s considerable discomfort, rose to his full height. Was that man about to seriously suggest... this was what he had been afraid of all along! An expert in the medical field the doctor may have been but Ford was an expert in the paranormal and he was _incensed_ the doctor honestly thought he would willingly hand Bill over to him. 

He stared doctor down, behind the bright sheen of his glasses, livid. 

“What I find strange,” he began hotly. “Is the normalcy of a homicide in this hospital every month. Does that not seem suspicious to you, Officer Baldwin? I think I rather take my friend somewhere where the statistics are a little better.”  
  
“Well, I never thought of it that way before.” Officer Baldwin looked to Dr. Hardy with new eyes. 

“You can’t be serious-” Dr. Hardy sputtered. 

“Stanford Filbrick Pines,” Bill hissed through his teeth. “If you don’t get me out of here in the next five seconds I will curse your bloodline for five, no a THOUSAND generations- I WILL FLAY YOUR SKIN and wear your intestines as GARLANDS!”  
  
For the sake of his sanity, Ford reluctantly agreed to his demands. He exchanged a look with Stanley and while Officer Baldwin and Dr. Hardy argued, he and Lee quickly bolted for the door. They made out into the parking lot before shouts rang out. The pounding boots of the cops followed. Without much time to spare, Ford shuffled into the back seat with Bill. Stanley took the steering wheel and floored it. 

Bill threw up on his lap before they even made it to the main road. 

* * *

That evening when things had settled down and Stanford had changed out of his soiled clothes and wrangled Bill into something other than a hospital gown. He felt dubiously confident that whatever had happened to Bill that afternoon wouldn’t repeat itself. Bill made himself scarce, and Ford waited a couple of hours, on Lee’s insistence. “Hospital visits are never fun. Leave the poor man alone.” But as the sunset Stanford grew tired of waiting and resolved to confront the dream demon. 

He couldn’t find the dream demon at first. He was not in the attic or the crawl space under the stairs. Ford cursed himself for including so many secret closets in his floor plan as one by one they turned up empty too. Bill seemed to have an instinct for finding hidden places, hidden things rather. He hoarded secrets and knowledge to himself, a mini-dragon made up of only three sides, hosting only a single greedy eye.

Wincing at the creaky hinges, Ford peeled open the closet door to the last place he could think to look. The master bedroom. The light from the bedroom behind him cut through the dark in a narrow slant as the door widened and finally caught on Bill’s one functioning eye. Which flickered yellow as the light passed over him.

He lay flat on his back, on a narrow shelf no normal person should find the means to fit. Among towels, boxes, and nameless memorabilia. He didn’t blink when Ford pulled the light switch but he did peel his lips back in a menacing smile while the rest of his body remained unnaturally still. “Well well well, sixer has come to gloat. Was my humiliation not enough for you?”

“Gloat? What- no, of course not.” Ford frowned and tried to think of the right way to phrase his question. But there was no right way to ask so he got straight to the point. “We need to talk about what happened earlier today. Your body... what happened to it? According to Dr. Hardy, your internal organs were dissolving.”

Bill rolled his eye. “Your species is in a perpetual state of decay. I fail to see how a little accelerated deliquesce is something to get all huffy about. ”

Ford set his jaw. Just hours ago the demon had complained of discomfort, now he didn’t seem to care less. Bill was toying with him. “The way I see it there are only three possibilities. Either, the reaction your vessel had today is the result of overexposure to your ambient energy. Somehow you got your hands on an extremely toxic chemical and unwittingly consumed it or...” the words became difficult to express now. Lodged like a molten stone in his throat. “Bill... did you... did you intentionally drink that, knowing what it would do to your body?” 

A strange expression came over Bill’s face, Ford couldn’t place it. It was so fleeting he did not have time to analyze the emotion behind it. In the time it took to blink it was replaced by Bill’s unnaturally wide grin and bared teeth.

“Is that sympathy I smell on you, Sixer? Aww, how sweet. And here I thought you had abandoned all sense of emotional connection.”

Ford twitched, a hand curling into a fist behind his back. His response was on the tip of his tongue but Ford caught himself- no, this wordplay was a trap. Bill’s attempt at a division. “You’re avoiding the question, Bill. I need an answer. An honest answer, if you could bring yourself to resist your nature for once.”

“Oh ho, we’re bringing up the subject of nature now are we?” Bill sneered. “You really are _something else_ , Sixer. Y’know, I used to feel a shred of sympathy for you. A tiny molecule of empathy. Maybe even respect. You’re a freak of nature just like the rest of us but then you went and screwed it all up _._ You want to talk about nature, Stanford? _Maybe you should look at that string of failures you leave behind first._ ”

If Bill’s words had been smelted into a molten blade of iron they couldn’t have hurt more than the blow he had already struck. It was an old wound. An old wound bandaged and restitched many times over. Ford clenched his jaw and reminded himself to be patient because the hurt had been Bill’s intention. Another division. Bill was at his most merciless when he had everything to gain but he was also at his most vicious when wounded. A fact Ford had only recently learned. 

It was much like handling a wild animal. Trap even a sewer rat and it'll have the impulse to bite. 

And with Bill’s temperament now.... he feared his suspicions could only be true.

“You are still avoiding the question.” The smile dropped from Bill’s face like a stone. Ford did not gain any satisfaction from it as he usually would, only a cold sense of dread. Palms raised, Ford slowly inched closer. “Bill... let’s talk about this. Arguing with me won’t get you anywhere.” 

The face of Bill’s vessel contorted in such a hateful glower, Ford froze mid-step. Transported back to the day when Bill had discovered their accidental foray through a weak point in time had cost him the remains of his interdimensional gateway. Bill freely admitted he was insane, but Ford had not truly appreciated the truthfulness of his claim until that day. Ford took a breath- 

“That’s rich coming from _you_ . Mr. _‘I won’t talk to my brother for ten years.’_ Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me? How _annoying_ inhabiting this sack of meat is? YOU may not care about the itchy tags, the needles behind your eyes, or crawling underneath that thin organ that encompasses your entire body but oh boy _do I care, Stanford!_ AND I AM SICK OF IT!”

Bill pushed himself off the shelf and barreled under Ford’s arm. “Bill!” 

Ford’s fingers grazed his sleeve but the ex-dream demon slipped out of his grasp, down the hall as quick as an eel. Ford was left alone with a cold pit in his stomach. 

* * *

“So uh... I found Bill under the kitchen sink again. I don’t know what’s going on between you two but- wait. Why are you locking the medicine cabinet?”

Ford cursed as the back of his head hit the cabinet door. “What was he doing under the kitchen sink?”  
  
“Eh, I’m not entirely sure. He looked pretty upset. He might have stolen your keys, it looked like he was scratching something into the pipes.”

“Good.”  
  
“Good? Ok, now I know something is wrong.” Stanley crossed his arms. “So uh, again, why are you locking up our cabinets?”

“Given recent events,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s become clear to me that not only do we have to take precautions to protect ourselves from Bill, but now we also must take precautions to protect Bill from _himself_ .”  
  
Stanley winced. “You sure it's as serious as all that? We’re talking about the same guy who will stick his fingers into electric sockets out of boredom. He can’t tell the difference between apple juice and OJ, what makes you think he can tell the difference between alcohol and bleach?”  
  
“Oh, he can tell the difference.” Ford closed the cabinet door and armed the pad-lock with a satisfying click then dropped the key into his breast pocket. “I confronted him. Bill’s defensive response is as good as an admission of his guilt.”  
  
“Jeesh, you’ve done it with a little more heart, Ford.”

Ford slammed the barrel of the drill down on the counter. “You don’t know Bill like I do, Lee. He would have taken any gesture of kindness as a show of weakness. If I give an inch if I let my guard down even for a moment...”  
  
“So that's what this is about. Control.” 

“No! Of course not.” Ford snapped indignantly. _Control?_ Where on earth did Stanley get that idea? He leaned against the bathroom sink, knuckles white over the edge of the counter. “We can’t take any chances. We have only two possibilities and either could lead to catastrophe. Either Bill attempted to inflict irreparable damage to himself out of sheer desperation, or his host body is unable to properly contain the ambient energy he gives off and will gradually fall apart. Either way, I have to do something about it. If Bill’s vessel is destroyed he will regain all his previous abilities and we will be right back to square one!” He slammed his fist on the counter. “It’s _my fault_ Bill found his way into our dimension, which makes him my responsibility. _I_ am accountable for any action he takes against this town!”

Bill had wanted a body once, badly. Badly enough to give Ford what he wanted. A small concession Ford had thought on his part, only to later realize Bill’s generosity was a farce, and if Bill had done anything kind it was either because he got something out of it or the matter was so inconsequential to Bill that he didn’t care. 

For Bill to be so _incensed_ with the physical body he had desired for so long struck Ford as odd. But perhaps it shouldn’t. The entity thought of mankind as little better than maggots. There was no distinction emotionally between the two. Bill simply didn’t care. Of course, he wouldn’t want to be stuck in something so _inferior_. 

... Bill had been so visibly distressed when Ford had confronted him. And then at the hospital as well. Come to think of it, there was a correlation between the demon’s outbursts and something in his immediate environment. Could it be... could it be that Bill Cipher, an entity comprised entirely of pure energy, could be overwhelmed by something as mundane as too much of the wrong kind of sensory input?

If Ford couldn’t see the evidence piling up, he would’ve considered the idea absurd.

The ex-dream demon's strange insistence on folding himself into narrow dark spaces suddenly made sense. Bill was experiencing a kind of sensory deprivation and possibly overstimulation of another kind to boot. Possibly even to an extreme extent. And Ford... he had never _considered_... but of course it made sense. It made a lot of sense, human bodies experienced a lot of things a creature without a physical body would not anticipate.

“I promised myself I would never stoop to his level. How could it have never occurred to me...?” his hand flew his mouth and Ford stared into his wide-eyed reflection in the facet. “Stanley, I may have unwittingly done something cruel.”

“...Ford, look at me,” Stanley rested his hand on Ford’s shoulder and reluctantly Ford turned to look at him. Stanley met his eye with a deep look of concern and sympathy. “Whatever Bill gets up to is his own business. He is just as responsible for his actions as we are for ours. Whatever he said about your character isn’t true. Sure, you might be an asshole sometimes but a well-intended asshole at worst. You’re my brother and I’ve known you my whole life, my brother would never _intentionally_ bully someone. You’re not a cruel person- most of the time- just occasionally misguided. I promise you’re _nothing_ like how dad turned out.”

That was a generous statement. Forgiving even. Hadn’t he tried to send Lee away almost immediately after meeting with him again for the first time in a decade? He understood now how his actions had hurt Lee but occasionally Ford caught himself trying to justify his intentions back then. He shook the thought from his mind. 

“Just occasionally enough,” Ford said bitterly. Distantly surprised at the hoarse, raspy quality of his own voice. Because it was true, wasn’t it? How easily Ford found himself misled... 

Stanley shrugged. “Hey, we all make mistakes. What matters is that we make up for them... or bribe our way out of them. Depends on the circumstances.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, a hoarse chuckle worked its way out of Ford’s throat. “Thank you, Lee. But that doesn't leave us any closer to a solution... I need to determine whether or not what happened to him was truly intentional. Hmmm. Perhaps addressing Bill’s sensory issues would make the situation more manageable...”  
  
“See? I knew you’d work something out. And I’ll be here to pull you out of any deep holes you dig yourself into.” Stanley swung his arm over his shoulders and squeezed. “Welp! I better go check in on our demonic roommate before he burns the shack down.”  
  
“I already hid the matches, but yes, that would be wise.” 

Stanley awkwardly released him and fled the room. Ford was left alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Bill glared balefully through the glass pane. On the other side, on the far wall of the pit, the gate-way into the Nightmare Realm- literally _millennia in the making_ , sat in ruins. A miserable husk of a thing now. Symbolic of wasted potential, disappointment, and crushed dreams. 

Awkwardly strewn at an angle, the left-hand corner of the gateway punctured the wall. In the time the Pines and Bill had been gone, a wreath of tree roots had claimed that corner. A deep crack that began perfectly parallel to the triangle’s center point had split the darn thing in two, with the right half leaning precariously against the wall behind it. 

The device _could_ be salvaged. The physical structure was mostly still there and the components for what was missing would be somewhere nearby. Ford was too proud a man to dispose of his hard-earned work.

Bill squinted through the glass as he wared with his host’s _primitive brain_ to visualize the schematics. In his eye, white lines drew themselves over the weeping gate in the form of a grid. A level deeper, he saw where the circuitry should be, over broken ley lines and glass shards. A frayed wire here. Bent copper there. The wires looped together, weaving in the precise way Ford had envisioned to avoid overheating.

Yep. Most of it was here. But the white lines began to blur as the seconds ticked by. The vessel’s head began to throb. Something was missing. Something important. 

Bill dragged the vessel’s eye down to the platform below the gate. A boulder had logged itself smack dab in the middle. The impact exposed yet more circuitry beneath it. The vessel’s sight was not keen enough to see each individual wire, but if Bill had to guess, most of that was still there too. 

Bill tilted his head to the side, turning the diagram he envisioned along with it. _What had Ford taken from it?_

“I hope you realize staring at it will not cause the portal to magically fix itself.”  
  
Stanford’s chiding tone was the only warning he got before blinding white light burned the vessel’s retina.

Indulgently, he allowed it’s eyelids to close for a few seconds. 

As Ford came down the stairs, Bill bared his teeth. Grin growing ever wider and more menacing as man frowned, gazing disapprovingly where he sat. On the console, leaning against the glass pane that looked over the gate. “Again, you will never use that portal to allow your _friends_ into our world. Staring at it will accomplish nothing, I hope you realize that.”  
  
“Don’t diss it ‘til you’ve tried it.”  
  
“You’re not even supposed to be down here.” Ford shook himself. “That isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.” He produced a headset from behind his back. A series of wires and doohickies extended from each ear muff and connected to a walk-man sized black box.  
  
Bill immediately became suspicious. “Interesting contraption you got there. Mind if I throw it?”  
  
“I do in fact,” Ford responded dryly. “This device will monitor the electrical signals emitted by your brain in response to certain stimuli. Hopefully, with this information, we will avoid incidents like the one that happened yesterday afternoon. As of now, I have yet to determine the cause.”  
  
“Y’know what, as much as I’d _love_ to be one of your experiments Fordsy, I think I’ll pass.” Bill scooted himself up higher on the console, palms set to the metal sheet he sat on.  
  
Behind the glint of his glasses, Ford’s keen eyes narrowed. “This is non-negatable. Your body nearly died- or perhaps it did- as you are unforthcoming with answers this is the only option I have left. I cannot allow you to return to the mindscape, Bill.”

Bill remained where he was, as Stanford Pine slowly inched closer. The man became more cautious with each step, _as he should_ . _He wasn’t a complete idiot._ As Ford raised the headset to put it over his head, Bill ducked. A more or less controlled fall to slip underneath Ford’s reach.  
  
“Bill, ack-” Ford grunted as he stumbled back.  
  
The vessel’s feet touched the ground and Bill directed its momentum towards the stairwell but a thick meaty arm looped around his torso and instead of barreling on into a full-body run, the vessel’s chin hit the ground. Pain rattled his skull and knocked his teeth together.  
  
“Get off of me!” Bill squirmed, pulling muscle and limb but the vessel’s feeble and pathetic twig arms couldn’t match Ford in strength.  
  
“Hold still-- enough, Bill! This is ridiculous! This device is perhaps the least invasive thing I’ve invented,” Ford’s words were cut short by a sharp hiss as Bill managed to swing his vessel’s elbow into the man’s jaw. “That’s it, I’ve had it!”

  
Something tight slipped over the vessel’s head and ears. Bill jolted, then went still, as sound became muffled. 

Like running down a flight of penrose stairs, a low buzzing began to build in the vessel’s ears. First as low as a hum, then a buzzing fly, and then the insistent droning hiss of static. The vessel became deaf to anything else and it kept building. Bill felt his nails scrape over the headset but Ford kept it firmly placed over his head. 

The sound wasn’t really there. It wasn’t out there, Bill heard it in here where it shouldn’t be. Because the mind was HIS space and now the vessel had stolen his autonomy too. It kept building. Stuffing the vessel’s ear with a dense invisible pressure. Pushing. _Pushing._ The band squeezed. His head throbbed. Tighter and tighter. It was like he was being squeezed on both sides by tectonic plates and the throbbing pinched either side of his skull and sent tendrils of pain to his neck-

And then suddenly the buzzing quieted, snuffed out like a candle. The throbbing pressure in his head lifted.  
  
Bill blinked. It was then he became aware of how blurry his vision had become. His face felt wet. His body shuddered, lungs taking in deep, wheezing gasps. Everything hurt in a distinctly unpleasant way, unlike the sharp pang of isolated pain, unlike the shock of abrupt damage. Every nerve in his body stood on pin-needles. 

“Oh god, Bill I am so sorry.”

  
Bill peered up through his eyelashes, vision swimming, to find Ford had kneeled next to him. Face slack in vulnerable shock. All blood had drained from his pale skin. Bill couldn’t find the strength to speak. The vessel’s actions were it's own and entirely out of his control. His body continued to tremble as air filled its lungs.  
  
“I was an idiot- how could I have been so stupid?” Ford swallowed. “I am so sorry. You were trying to tell me something was wrong just before we went to the hospital- I dismissed you then too didn’t I.”  
  
His body shuddered and Bill complied with the need to wrap his arms around his knees and hide his face between them.

The shuffling of fabric. Footsteps. A click and the room went blessedly dark. Fabric again, as Stanford sat down next to him with his back to the wall. 

“Bill, I... you did something very cruel to me. You prayed upon my loneliness to manipulate me into building a device that would doom the world and I don't think I could ever forgive you for that. But... my actions are my own and what I did to you just now was entirely out of line. It won’t happen again I swear it.”

A moment of silence elapsed. The vessel’s heart thumped. The rapid beat hitching every now and then with each aching lung full. Slowly the rhythm calmed.

“I didn’t drink anything,” when Bill’s voice reached his own ears it was a reedy rasp. “That’s what you wanted from me, right?” _That’s why you did this to me._

“Bill...” Ford’s voice was stricken. 

“I didn’t intend to damage it. I wasn’t _trying,”_ Bill risked a glance at the man from under the shelter of his arms. “I had _thought_ about it. It would’ve been an easy way out. Killing it wouldn’t do anything to me in the long run. Ditch the host body. Return to the Dreamscape. Easy peasy. I’ve done it before.”

“Because your vessel is a homunculus there would be no soul left to reside in it once you left it.” Ford responded softly. “For that reason, it’s trying to accumulate to the shape of your being. But that’s just the problem isn’t it? It _can’t_. And as a result, it's becoming more difficult for you to detach yourself from it.”

“I _thought_ about it, but I didn’t _try_ it.”

“I believe you, Bill,” Ford quickly assured him, words hastily given and Bill knew he was being sincere. “I believe you.” 

Another lull. Bill pressed his cheek to his arm. His eyes felt sore and dry, but his face was streaked with damp salt. Somewhere nearby a leaky pipe slowly dripped and the backup generator hummed quietly to itself.

Ford didn’t say anything less for a long time. Not until the throbbing ache in the vessel’s head had eased and under the balm of low light Bill untangled himself from the tight ball he had tucked himself into. 

Ford cleared his throat. “Are you feeling better?” At Bill’s heated stare he backtracked. “... right, that was a dumb question. No more tests,” He promised. “I have enough evidence to believe the issue is the instability of your vessel... granted, you are not exactly gentle with it-”  
  
Bill snorted. Of course not. It was his!   
  
“-it would certainly help if you were, but I digress. The problem seems to be that the vessel simply doesn't have the magical integrity to withstand prolonged exposure to you. This leaves us with two options, either we drain your energy enough to stabilize the vessel-”  
  
The vessel’s heart did a funny little thing in response to that suggestion: it jumped. Wrapped its greedy little fingers around the vessel’s main arteries. Bill was _not_ alarmed by this idea. He _wasn’t._ “Real swell idea Sixer, but you forgot one thing. I don’t work like that. You can’t take something of mine without first making a _deal_ .”  
  
It was with a deliberate sort of denial that Sixer skimmed right over his offer. Bill blinked emotionlessly. One eye than the other as the vessel’s heart rate settled. He hadn’t expected Sixer to agree to his offer anyway. “... which leaves us with our second option, we find a way to reinforce the vessel's magical integrity.” 

He paused as another thought occurred to him then began to mutter quietly to himself. “Hmm. No, that might not be possible. I’ve never heard of someone changing a homunculus without deconstructing it first and that’s out of the question...”

“Or,” Bill began, spinning a strand of blonde hair between his fingers. “-you could remove that pesky little magic ban you put on the shack.”

  
“I’ll consider it,” Sixer responded tensely. 

Eh, close enough. Bill’s eye narrowed, reluctant to push the man after Ford had so quickly overpowered him. Ford picked up the headset, heedless of the way the movement caused the vessel’s heart to pound in its cage until the cursed object left Bill’s sight. 

The reluctance to offend was mutual though and Sixer was positively _civil_ with him for the rest of the day and then the day after too. Call him sappy, but for a fleeting period, Bill almost understood the appeal of a pesky little thing called peace. 

* * *

  
  
And consider it he did for the next three days.

Ford stewed over the possibilities. He weighed the pros and cons, made lists and diagrams, sketched out theories into a spare notebook he kept solely for that purpose. He wasn’t writing another journal, he couldn’t, not with Bill living under his roof, it just wasn’t wise. But the scraps of paper he wrote on now were easily disposed of and helped to organize his thoughts. 

In that time Bill was strangely subdued. Or perhaps, subdued wasn’t quite the word. His behavior was less antagonistic? Less erratic. Eccentric to be sure, Bill was never not eccentric, but something in the way they interacted with each other had changed since that conversation in the basement. It was contradictory. It didn’t make sense. The overwhelmingly paranoid part of him told him to be suspicious. But logic won out and Ford realized it was actually quite simple: _one was simply in a better mood when their nerves were not frayed on both ends._

Ford could not trust Bill’s intentions. He couldn’t. _The dream-demon was hell-bent on annihilating reality._ He knew he could never allow himself to trust Bill again. But if he left the rooms Bill holed himself up in dark, and the sound surrounding that part of the shack muffled, Bill fought him less. 

If, despite all reason to the contrary, Ford extended his hand in mercy Bill responded not with teeth and poison on his tongue but something... _different_. Something unexplained, paradoxical. And Ford could not begin to comprehend the thoughts that went through the demon’s twisted mind, but in response to the confusion that settled over Bill in those moments, Ford felt a tentative emotion bloom in his chest. It felt dangerously close to hope. 

That conversation in the basement was enlightening in another sense too. It had reminded him that Bill was nearly powerless in the form he took now. And that what few spells he could cast before Ford and Lee had caught him were obnoxious at worst and benign at best. Bill was not as powerful as he wanted Ford to believe.   
  
With that thought and a tentative sense of security, along with Stanley’s help, Ford at least came to a decision.

“It is not a permanent solution and if I’m wrong we may have another incident regardless, however...” Ford cleared his throat. “I’ve thought about it, and I’ve decided the chance this might work outweighs the risks.”

Bill waited, unblinking. 

Ford took a breath. He couldn't quite believe the words he was about to say but had come too far to take them back now. “For the continued health of your vessel, I will remove the magic ban on the shack which will allow you to use your power- within reason!” Ford quickly explained over Bill’s overjoyed shriek. “In exchange, you can’t use your power to hex me, Stanley, or the residents of this town or anyone that visits the shack for that matter. You can’t use your magic to do harm-”

“You drive a hard bargain!” Bill said between peels of giddy laughter, he hardly seemed disappointed. He didn’t seem to know what he wanted to do more, hug himself tightly enough to make his own bones pop or spin in circles. Unable to contain himself, Bill leapt to his feet.

“-or property damage! You can’t use your magic to cause property damage, directly or indirectly!” Ford called after him. The porch door slammed shut behind him and every light in the shack flashed brilliantly for three seconds. 

Stanley whistled. “Wow, someone’s happy. Maybe we should’ve done something like that sooner. Give him something non-destructive to do.”  
  
“Bill Cipher and non-destructive are two words that we wish could, but do not, in fact, co-exist.” Ford dragged a long-suffering hand down his face, leaving both his hair and glasses askew. “I hope I don’t come to regret this.” 

“With how happy he is now? Ehh, I say we have a few days.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
